I immediately start heading toward the water, which thankfully isn’t hard to find in Miami.

I get to the beach, which luckily isn’t that crowded on an overcast weekday.

I see her, and my heart cracks. She hasn’t taken off those ridiculous shoes, the spike heels have sunk all the way into the sand, driving her weight backward, even though her shoulders are rolled forward.

My girl looks broken, and I’m realizing that a crooked nose wasn’t nearly enough punishment for this Oscar guy.

I walk slowly toward her. My boots and jeans aren’t exactly beach friendly, but I ignore this. I ignore everything except Lucy. The gentle sound of the surf drowns out any sound of her crying, which somehow makes the tears running down her cheeks all the more like a punch in the gut.

I should have thought of something to say. Should have tried to figure out if she wants me to offer to beat up the guy, or tell her he’s not worth it, or that she’s a hundred—thousand—times more beautiful than the other girl…

None of that matters. There’s no talking, there’s not even thinking. There’s only doing, and I slowly reach out, my hand on her shoulder as I pull her around to me, my movements a little rough.

She comes easily, her face against my shoulder, her hot breath against my thin T-shirt with a shuddering sigh.

I wrap one arm around her waist, the other cupping the back of her head as I pull her close. She doesn’t wrap her arms around me, just clenches her fingers into my shirt as she buries her face against my chest.

I close my eyes and, for a minute, let myself be selfish. Let myself relish having her close once more, even though the circumstances are shit.

She doesn’t say a word as I hold her, and I wonder if she’s realized the same thing as me. That there’s nothing to say, not really. That that guy was never the one for her, that he’s not even worth talking about. He’s certainly not worth her tears, but then Lucy’s always been a bit of a crier. Not in the weepy, weak sense; it’s just how she shows her emotion. Happy, relieved, sad, excited…she cries.

She cries when she’s heartbroken too. I hope to God that isn’t what these tears are about.

My hand smooths over her back, the pads of my fingers warm against her head. Before I can register what I’m doing, my lips brush her hair. I tell myself it’s an accident, but that’s bullshit. It’s a kiss. A need for her, even now, as she’s hurting.

Hell, perhaps because she’s hurting. It’s always been my job to fix that, and I don’t know how to at the moment.

“You know the weird part,” she whispers quietly, finally breaking her silence.

I shake my head slightly.

“I’m not even that surprised. I think I knew something was off, but I insisted on doing this anyway. And you know the worst part?”

Her fingers dig into my chest, little claws, and I feel a quick sense of foreboding.

“The worst part,” she rushes on, “is that I wasn’t even seeing him as it was happening. I was seeing you. And her. All over again. And it was like I was dying inside, all over again.”

I feel a stab of panic followed by anger as I pull her back roughly. “You kidding me with this, Luce? That guy cheats on you, and I take the blame for it?”

She lifts her chin. “You cheated on me once too.”

I let out an incredulous laugh and step back, running my hands over my hair in disbelief. And guilt. Not guilt over what she thinks I did, but guilt over how fucking…

Never mind.

I strike back, the guilt making me defensive.

“Damn it,” I mutter. “That’s what you’re turning this into. It’s not enough that I paid for my own actions back then, now I’m going to have to pay for his too?”

She swipes at her tears, and I register what kind of crying we’re dealing with here: angry crying.

Well bring it on. I’m angry too. At myself mostly, but a little bit at her too for being so…so…Lucy.

“Even now, you don’t deny it,” she cries. “Even now you stand there, look me right in the eye and tell me I’m overreacting!”

“It was six years ago, Lucy! We were kids.”

The wrong thing to say, clearly, because her green eyes go furious, and she steps forward to shove at my shoulders. Only the high heels and soft sand make her uneven, and she wobbles.

I reach out a hand to steady her and she rears back, as though stumbling into the Atlantic would be better than my touch.

“Well it sure felt very grown-up when you took my virginity,” she hisses.

I close my eyes, at the bittersweet memory. “I’m not going to talk to you about this now. Not when you’re upset over some other guy’s betrayal.”

She lets out a little laugh that’s more sad than anything else, and shakes her head. “I’ve heard that before. You’ve never wanted to talk about it, Reece. You’ve always acted like you didn’t have to. Like you never had to explain yourself to little Lucy Hawkins.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

I just didn’t know what to say. How to say it. I was nineteen, for Chrissake. Stupid. With her, with myself. But smart too. Because while the way we ended tore us to shreds, it was better then, that way, than later.

And there was always going to be a later. Lucy Hawkins was never going to stay. Not with a guy like me.

She shakes her head, her hand finding the sunglasses tangled in her hair, pulling them down to cover up puffy, angry eyes.